Quiet Nights
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: Django has trouble sleeping, so the doc gives him a hand. Kinks: Cold Weather, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Job, Sweet Talk.


It's just the two of them out in the middle of nowhere that icy winter. They move from town to town picking off the criminals one by one, and set up camp when there's a lull. They have quickly learned to move past embarrassment at each other's nakedness since there's no secluded place to bathe or jerk off when you need to stay close to a fire to stay warm when you are staying several days at the base of a mountain.

They quickly grow used to hearing the slide of skin on skin on their respective sides of the fire. They learn each other's rhythms and how long they can last. At first, they were careful to pretend not to notice what was happening feet away from them, but soon they grew comfortable enough to pick up when the other had started. Quiet moans and soft panting and horses shifting into comfortable positions are the sounds that surround them when the pressure of the job or the anxiety of finding Hilde get to be too much. They need something to relieve the tension.

They never speak of it.

This night starts off as any of the others. Django misses his wife more and more every day, and sometimes it's just too much to bear. He scoots closer to the fire and tugs his trousers and underpants down his thighs and spits in his hand before grasping himself firmly. He moans quietly, but he knows the doctor hears him when he hears rustling as Schultz turns over on his pallet. He tries to lose himself in the act as he wishes and wishes his wife was with him. Is she being fed? Is she in the same state as when they were savagely parted? Is she even alive? He grunts in frustration and lets go of himself. He's wound too tightly. He can't focus on the pleasure or even the distraction of touching himself.

He lets his eyes wander with his thoughts and suddenly he is making eye contact with Schultz. Schultz is quietly observing him. He's not touching himself though. He can't tell if the other man is even aroused because he's lying on his stomach and resting his head on top of his crossed arms. Schultz gives an apologetic smile for getting caught watching and absently scratches at his beard. Django quirks the corner of his mouth in answer and sighs deeply. It looked as if it was simply going to be a sleepless night. He makes to pulls his pants back up when the doctor stops him.

"I could help you with that, if you'd like."

He should have expected King to come up with some crazy idea. He was probably just trying to fool him. Maybe he'll fool back.

"Yeah? Do that often, doc?"

"Mmm, for people I like. Male or female, black or white, though you'd be the first. I tend not to let color and gender affect my love life. I enjoy a bit of adventure between the sheets."

Django quirks an eyebrow.

"So you were being serious?"

Schultz looks affronted. He props himself up to speak.

"I'm not a cocktease, Django. And especially not when there's not another soul around for miles. I understand if my offer has offended you, but I'm willing to help if you want."

Django lets the man's words sink in a bit, going over his offer in his mind. He drops his hand back down to his flagged erection and absently begins stroking himself. Perhaps having the distraction coming from someone else would be enough to finally let him sleep.

"Alright."

Schultz pauses before asking, "Are you sure? You needn't feel as though you must."

"I just need to forget for a little while, doc. Will you help me?"

"I've got just the thing."

The man hops up from his mat and blanket and strolls over to his horse before rooting around in the saddle bag. He pulls a small bottle from the pouch and walks over to crouch down on Django's side of the fire. Django quirks an eyebrow. Maybe he and King weren't talking about the same thing after all...

"Don't worry. It's just peppermint oil. I used to prescribe it to folks with horrendous breath. But it will suit the purpose of eliminating friction as well."

He doesn't know the definition of 'horrendous,' but it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Django settles down onto his back, and Schultz pours a measure onto his hands. He rubs them together to warm his hands and the oil up before gently putting them on him. Django shivers, and he's not sure if it's from the touch of the doctor's hands or from the cool night air.

"Tell me if I do something you don't like," he says, rubbing his thumb over and under the head of his cock.

"I like that just fine."

"Wunderbar. Just lie back, close your eyes, and leave it to me. I won't force you to have to think of me during all this. Do whatever comes naturally."

Django nods before getting as comfortable as he can on his thin mattress and blanket. He lets his eyes shut and allows himself to simply feel the doctor's hands on him. His left hand rests on his right hip while his right hand begins a firm stroking motion, eased by the sweet smelling peppermint oil. Soon, all he can hear is the slick slide of skin and can finally give himself over to the pleasure of the act without worry hovering over him. Although he can't help but feel sudden guilt when thoughts stray back to his wife.

"Doc, maybe I was wrong. Maybe this is cheating on my woman. She's-she's out there somewhere, and I—"

"Easy, Django, relax. I have no sort of delusion that you are remotely infatuated with me. Nor I to you in anything other than a platonic way. You need your rest. When was the last time you slept through the night, hmm? I need my partner to be alert and ready for anything. Let me help you."

He doesn't understand a few of the words King used, but he was right about being dead exhausted. He really wouldn't be any good if he kept nodding off on a stake out. This time he's determined to let it happen. Schultz resumes stroking him, and it actually feels ok this time. He lets out a tiny whimper.

"There you go. Enjoy yourself, lad."

Schultz twists his hand and earns a moan for his efforts. The more the young man gives himself up to the pleasure of the action, the more he's willing to twist and keen under the doctor's sure hands. Schultz runs a soothing hand over the man's right hip to ground him, give him something external to focus on as he nears his end.

"That's it. That's it, Django. Let yourself go. Come on, now," the doctor husks.

Django does. He grunts when he finally comes over King's hands and his own thighs. Schultz eases him through his tremors of pleasure until there is no more to be had. With his clean hand, King pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and cleans them both off before abandoning the scrap of fabric to the night. When all is done, Django reopens his eyes, unsure of what to say or do now that this was over. The doc is looking at him with tender eyes, and he shivers again in remembered feeling.

Schultz speaks first:

"Feeling better?"

"Y-yeah," he pants. "Much."

King gives him a bright smile.

"Good to hear. If you're ever in need of the peppermint oil, it's in the right side pouch of my saddle bag. Yours to use as you please."

With a final pat to the younger man's hip, Schultz rises on slightly stiffened knees and walks to his side of the fire again, dragging his mat a big closer to stave off the chill. He lies on his stomach again and pulls his blanket up over his shoulders and Django was fixing his trousers and his own blanket as the chill night made itself known to them once more. Silence settles over them as they try to find a fire-warm spot to lie on.

"'Night, doc," Django murmurs.

"Good night, Django."

A beat.

"Thanks, doc."

A light chuckle.

"You're welcome, Django."

It's the first time he sleeps through the night in two weeks.


End file.
